


In Event of Existential Dread

by Alley_Skywalker



Category: Romeo & Juliette - Toho Stage, Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Polyamory, Post-Apocalypse, Pre-Canon, Prompt Fill, it's practically gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:40:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22462717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/pseuds/Alley_Skywalker
Summary: Romeo keeps seeing the shadow of Death and it's really ratcheting up his anxiety levels. Good thing he has Mercutio and Benvolio in this shadow world they live in.
Relationships: Benvolio Montague/Mercutio/Romeo Montague
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	In Event of Existential Dread

Romeo knows the word _anxiety,_ in the sense that he knows such a word exists. He also vague knows that what he experiences at times are _anxiety._ But everyone has that to some degree or other, probably. It’s inevitable when the world is filled with restricted zones, constant potential for stumbling onto previously unknown _contamination supplies,_ regular crop failures and all the other existential angst imaginable in a word that has been rebuilt to a shadow of its old self. Everyone has anxiety. But somehow, Romeo has it worse, or he must, because otherwise he’s not certain what could be responsible for those hours – sometimes days – when he feels like he’s going to fall into quicksand at every step, when he feels like something is coming to grab him around the throat and pull him into darkness.

It’s probably why he comes home, a week before Christmas, shivering and unable to face anyone or anything. He heads straight for the living room couch and plans himself face-down into the cushions. They’ve already put up the Christmas tree – it’s plastic, of course, real ones are so rare and so difficult to transport that they might as well not exist – and it twinkles mockingly at him from the corner. Benvolio’s voice carries from the kitchen, calling out his name and then, not receiving an answer, Mercutio’s. 

In about thirty seconds he will stick his head out into the living room, look around wide-eyed until he finally spots Romeo on the couch, and will probably say something fond but exasperated. Romeo doesn’t really care. He’s just seen the shadow of death – probably nothing more than the shadow of an old radiator, but it _felt_ real enough – and all he wants to do is lay face down on the couch and not have to talk to anyone. If he’d realized Benvolio was home, he would have taken the extra ten steps to the bedroom, but now it’s too late and getting up is too hard. 

Benvolio comes out of the kitchen with a spatula, which he promptly drops on seeing Romeo. He pads across the living room and sits down gingerly on the edge of the couch, a hand on Romeo’s shoulder. “Ro? Are you alright?”

“Aisuwmteshowmhdhnn.” 

Benvolio sighs and gently ruffles his hair. “Come on, take off your jacket. Dinner is almost ready.”

Romeo shakes his head minutely and presses further into the corner throwpillow. Benvolio sweeps Romeo’s hair out of his face and winces. “Damnit, Romeo. Have you not been paying attention to the rain acidity levels again?”

 _Oh._ That is probably why his face, neck and hands feel itchy and irritated. He hadn’t been paying attention to the acidity alerts on his phone, even when the rain started. Romeo turns slowly over onto his side and looks up at Benvolio like a kicked puppy. “I wasn’t paying attention.” 

“No, clearly not.” There it is – that exasperated tone. 

Romeo realizes he can’t stop shaking even though it’s warm in the apartment and he isn’t nearly all that wet. “I saw the shadow of death, Ben.” 

“This is new. Probably an old radiator or decon column. Or a hobo.” 

Romeo shakes his head and buries his face in the pillow again. “I’m going to die. We’re all going to die.” Romeo doesn’t know why he feels like this so often these days, but it’s like the world is full of ice and the shadows are pitch black in all the corners. It’s not the same every single day. Some days, he even thinks that these episodes he has are moments of madness. But it can be so difficult to separate reality from mere fantasy and conjecture sometimes. Sometimes, he thinks he sees things others don’t – but they’re always bad things. 

He needs help, but he doesn’t know where to get it. Friar Lawrence seems to be the only one to really listen without the same air of fond but disbelieving indulgence that other people in his life have. But he is a man of God, so he tells Romeo to pray. 

Romeo knows one prayer, and he doesn’t think it really works. 

“Alright,” Benvolio says softly, after a few minutes. “I’m gong to make you tea and get you some dry clothes. Can you take these wet ones off?”

Romeo thinks it over, decides it’s probably best to make an effort to be as functional as possible and nods in agreement. 

*

By the time Mercutio comes home, Romeo has dozed off on the couch. 

Mercutio takes one took at the situation in their living room – Romeo asleep tucked under a weighted blanket, Benvolio’s concerned expression, the smell of aloe vera – and drops his bag on the floor with a thud. “Fuck,” is the first thing he says. 

Benvolio looks up from his place beside Romeo on the couch. He has one arm around Romeo’s waist and a book in his free hand. “Hey. How was your day?”

“Better than Romeo’s, I gather.” 

Benvolio winces. “Low bar at the moment.” 

“Has he been like this for long?”

“Was freaking out when he came home an hour ago. He’d gone wondering in the rain—”

“Isn’t the acidity right now like—?”

“Yes.”

“…Great.” 

Benvolio looks away. “There’s dinner on the stove.” 

Mercutio disappears into the kitchen, then comes back to sit on the floor by the couch with a plate full of food. “This shit—”

“Keep your voice down, _please._ Let him sleep.” 

Mercutio swallows down some food, then begins again, quieter this time. “This shit has been getting worse and worse ever since we took him to see that fortune teller as a prank last summer. She told him some nonsense about how everyone he cares about will be dead in a year and now he comes home saying stuff like, _I’ve seen the shadow of death._ ” 

“He’s said that to you?”

“Once. I thought he was drunk.” 

“He keeps seeing it. Apparently.” 

Mercutio sighs and leans his head against Benvolio’s leg. Benvolio automatically begins to run a hand through his hair. “Romeo’s always been…you know, in his head? But I don’t think this is normal.” 

“Mmh.”

“Do you know if he’s gone to Friar Lawrence about it? It seems to help him for whatever reason.”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Well, what do we do? What if he’s just like…not paying attention and going into contamination zones and picking up too much and so it’s like he’s high all the time? Would explain why he sees death all the time—ow!” Mercutio looks up, betrayed at getting smacked upside the head in the middle of his _well-reasoned_ speech. “What?”

“Romeo’s not stupid—”

“That’s not what I said—”

“And there would be other symptoms.”

Mercutio shrugs and looks back down into his plate. “I’m just no good at this.” 

Benvolio returns to playing with his hair. “We’ll figure it out. As long as we’re all together, we’ll be fine.” 

*

Half an hour later, Mercutio is lying on the floor, studying their Christmas tree with some interest. 

They’d turned the lights down so that the room is only illuminated by the light strings on the tree and Benvolio has switched from reading to lazily playing a mindless game on his phone.

“You know,” Mercutio says suddenly. “If there were tiny people – like doll sized – they could have a party under our tree. It would probably be really pretty for them. All those lights towering above. They would probably try to see if they could knock off the baubles on the lower branches or, if they’re really short, try to jump and touch them. It could be really—I don’t know—romantic? That’s what Romeo would call it… Benvolio?”

“Hm?”

“Are you even listening to me?”

Benvolio lowers his phone. “Ehhh…something about tiny people?”

Mercutio sighs dramatically and sits up. “Don’t you think the tiny people would love to have a party under a Christmas tree like this? They probably do at night.”

Benvolio rolls his eyes and returns to his attention to his phone. “I thought Romeo was the one having hallucinations.” 

Benvolio doesn’t look up from his phone, but he can practically _feel_ Mercutio sticking his tongue out at him. “You don’t know that there aren’t tiny people. With all the mutations we hear about…”

“I don’t think dwarfism makes you quite _that_ small.” 

Mercutio pouts. “If Romeo was awake, he’d back me up.”

“Back you up in what?” Romeo mumbles sleepily, startling both of the other boys. 

“Aha! My wingman is here!” Mercutio declares. 

“Great. You woke him up.” 

Mercutio, not paying Benvolio’s grumbling any mind, crawls over to the couch, leans against the seat cushions and props his chin on his arms. “Hey, Ro. Tell Benvolio I’m right.”

“Right about what?” Romeo rubs a hand over his eyes, looking around and clearly trying to recall what has happened. 

“That there are tiny people and they have parties under our Christmas tree at night because it would be really cool to have a party under a huge Christmas tree with a billion lights and baubles the size of your head and shit.” 

Romeo blinks at him. “Are you hi—I mean. I’m pretty sure there aren’t tiny people the size of like a finger—”

Benvolio lets out the small, triumphant laugh. 

“—But if there were, they would totally wanna have parties under fake Christmas trees. I would if I was them.” 

“You little shit,” Mercutio says, leaning in to rub his nose against Romeo’s. “When did you learn to be diplomatic?” 

Romeo just smiles fondly at him and leans in for a soft kiss. 

“Are you feeling better?” Benvolio asks. 

Romeo bites his lip, now awake enough to recall how he had ended up like this. “Yea. Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.” 

“You gotta stop wondering around in the acid rain,” Mercutio says. “I know they say it’s never going to be so bad again to like…actually burn you or anything but you’re clearly sensitive to it. I’m not here to be fussy, that’s what Benvolio is for, but still.” 

Romeo sits up and pulls his legs up so he can nest his chin between his knees. “I know it’s stupid. I just….sometimes I get this feeling like something is following me around, watching me. Not like…not a person. But a…thing. I don’t know. It’s weird. All the colors get dark and I just feel like there’s nothing out there in the future. It’s all just darkness.”

“You have an overactive imagination. Scoot over.” 

Romeo moves over closer to Benvolio so that Mercutio can sit on his other side. “As though you don’t,” he mumbles in a weak retort. 

“I usually don’t imagine death.” 

“How about,” Benvolio says, reaching for the remote control. “We watch a nice, happy film before going to bed.” 

Mercutio and Romeo make approving sounds. “I’ll make tea,” Romeo offers. 

“No, it’s alright,” Benvolio starts. “I’ll—”

“No, no, I’ll do it. Seeing as I’ve been a problem today.” Romeo slides off the couch and walks to the kitchen. 

“You’re not a problem…” Benvolio says quietly, looking after him. 

Mercutio leans over, distracts Benvolio with a kiss, and pulls the remote out of his hands. “We’re watching Gables!” 

Benvolio groans. “We saw Gables live like three months ago.”

“And now they’ve gone on tour to Mantua and I want to watch it again. Good thing they filmed before going.” Mercutio settles back against the cushions with a satisfied, smug look and begins flipping through their film library. 

In a few minutes, Romeo returns with three mugs of tea. He snuggles back in between Benvolio and Mercutio and asks, “Have you guys decided on what we’re watching?”

“Gables.” 

“Didn’t we just see it liv—?”

Mercutio groans as Benvolio snorts a laugh. “We don’t _have_ to if you guys hate so much,” Mercutio says, a note of frustrated disappointment seeping into his voice. 

“I don’t mind,” Romeo says. 

Benvolio shrugs. “I don’t either.” 

“Good them. That’s settled.” 

As the show starts and the three of them settle into a pile of blankets and intertwined limbs, Romeo thinks that maybe he should try to memorize how warm and safe this moment feels. Maybe the memory will get him through the next time he has an _anxiety attack_ and his boyfriends _aren’t_ there to see him through it.


End file.
